


The Smoke is in Your Eyes

by skyandmustard



Category: GMMTV Actors, offgun
Genre: Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Love Confessions, M/M, Sharing a Bed, fuck buddies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:19:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22144747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyandmustard/pseuds/skyandmustard
Summary: Off Jumpol believes he is living a pretty okay life. He has a decent-paying job, a nice apartment, a running car, and even though there are tiny conflicts within his family, he doesn't really carry that much issues to complicate his life to the extremes. That is, until he met Gun Atthaphan.OrOff and Gun’s story told through a series of aftersex conversations.
Relationships: Off Jumpol Adulkittiporn/Gun Atthaphan Phunsawat
Comments: 56
Kudos: 375





	The Smoke is in Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> I am on an OffGun lockdown so this one is completely self-indulgent -- exactly why it falls under my overused trope, fuck buddies (surprise, surprise). Anyway, this contains stuff like swearing, drinking, smoking, sexual acts (mostly implied), etc. so please be warned.
> 
> Normal text is happening in the present and in a sequential order. Italicized are flashbacks that have a nonlinear timeline. All the flashbacks happened prior to the first scene.

“P’Off.” It is a soft whisper cutting through the cold, palpable silence. “I think I’m catching feelings for you.” 

There are a lot of ways on how you can shake Off’s world. Milder ones would be telling him someone accidentally threw out his memory haul box (and it was waste collection day), or telling him he already have to dispose his gaming PC because it caught a chronic software bug. 

A more extreme one would be giving him calls at 7AM about a row of already-plastered columns constructed on a supposedly clear space. 

The most would probably be a fuck buddy of six months telling him he might be in love with him right after they just finished three rounds of loud, wild sex.

They are lying side by side on Gun’s bed, both stark naked and exhausted to their bones. Most people would agree it isn’t the most romantic time to make a confession, although it isn’t really a surprise for Off now. After all it is something right on Gun Atthaphan’s alley.

“I’ve been thinking about it for a couple of months now,” Gun continues. He turns his head towards him. “Do you want to continue doing this?”

With knitted eyebrows, Off snorts both in amusement and disbelief. “You’re the only person I know who’d pass that decision to me.”

“Well…” the word drags on for at least a few beats, “I already know you don’t return my feelings, but you’re a horny bastard and I’m willing to get what I could get. So I’m asking if you want us to continue using each other like this or if the stakes got too high for you.”

Gun Atthaphan has always been an interesting person. He is caring and friendly, but somehow feels a little detached, too. He is the type to tell a lot, but also hide things too well. You’d feel like he’s in one place, but somehow it feels like he’s also somewhere else. And Off guesses that is exactly what drew him in to Gun. There is always something to unravel about him, as greasy as it sounds.

Gun lets on what he wants to let on. But for some reason, that makes you more intrigued by what he doesn’t. It’s a cliche thing to say, and maybe a little too cheesy too, but Gun Atthaphan is an enigma. And even though he’d revealed more secret to Off than Off to him, Gun still remains a convoluted mystery. Especially to Off Jumpol.

Right now he just told Off he’s catching feelings for him; but in some way, it seemed like there is still a huge mass of grey cloud looming over the bigger part of him, covering and hiding it until it suddenly just pours down in a form of a vicious storm.

“Are you not afraid to get hurt?” Off asks instead.

“What makes you think I’m not hurting now?”

The silence stretches longer after that. There is nothing Off could say. Sorry just doesn’t seem to suffice, especially when Gun himself doesn’t even sound sorry for himself at all. 

There is a hint of acceptance in his voice, but his eyes are saying otherwise. It is one of the rare times even Gun’s eyes couldn’t lie. It makes Off realize that sometimes even years of practice do not guarantee definite success.

“I don’t have to give an answer now, right?”

“You can take you time.”

Another string of silence envelopes the room. The warmth from the adrenaline combined with minutes of rubbing against each other’s body is long gone. It is just cold and silent and heavy.

When Off came over to Gun’s flat that night, he expected a mindblowing blowjob and a warm hole to be filled, not an unsought confession. But he thinks that’s just how it is with Gun. You just always have to expect the unexpected.

“I’m going to smoke before going home,” he says, sitting up to put on his pants before beelining for the balcony.

Gun watches his back peacefully, his eyes trailing to every flex of the muscle and every little scratch designed by his own fingernails. 

“You know,” he starts, “this is exactly why I picked my apartment instead of yours.” Off hums for him to continue. “At least I don’t get kicked out of my own apartment after the confession.”

Off smirks, a cigarette pressed on his lips. He lights it with the silver Zippo he bought when he had a vacation at US before. He turns his back to Gun, the smoke from his mouth dissolving at the night sky.

Gun falls on his own back, staring at the ceiling and the supposedly “glow-in-the-dark” stickers of stars that have already lost their glow.

_“What did you say your name was?”_

_Gun was on his bed, lying on his stomach wearing nothing but the litter of raw bite marks on his neck and inner thighs. His bedspread has already failed to do its job and was pooling at the bottom of his feet. But to be fair, he’d always been a bad bedsheet tuck-er._

_“I didn’t tell you,” replied Off. He was already up, wearing his pants and trying to button the cuff of his white, I-take-myself-too-seriously dress shirt._

_“Do you not do names with one-night stands?” Gun’s voice was muffled and his messy black hair was creating a vivid contrast to the white pillow._

_Off spared him a glance, already reaching for his coat somewhere at the feet of Gun’s bed. “Maybe I’ll give it to you if we do this again some other time.”_

_Off, at that time, didn’t fully understand why he said that. He was not the type to get too personal with a one-night stand because he knows that that’s exactly what it is — a one-night thing. But maybe it has a little bit to do with the stress from work and how his old and boring daily routine has been taking a toll on him lately, and a lot to do with Gun sparking his interest for some weird, unknown reason._

_Gun couldn’t help the amused chuckle, his face turning to the side to look at the man he just met a couple of hours ago. “So you enjoyed it?” His tone was teasing but intrigued and a whole lot entertained. “Works for me.”_

_Off was almost done with his whole attire: the cliche corporate world dresscode of a matching coat and dress pants, crisp, white shirt, a boring tie, a pair of oxford shoes, and the most important accent — an expensive gold watch that says he doesn’t get paid just the minimum salary like everyone else._

_Gun never imagined he would hook up with such a clean-looking man (Off even had his hair styled up earlier). But then again Gun wasn’t planning on going home with anyone at all that night._

_“Not trying to flatter you or anything,” Gun cleared out, “but that was probably my most satisfying sexual experience. Like, ever.”_

_“You should meet better people then,” Off suggested, voice unexpectedly a little guttural. He cleared his throat. “You can do better than that.”_

_“Where did you learn that anyway?”_

_“Learn what?”_

_“Make someone come without touching them.”_

_Off was already done dressing up, so he was just standing there, awkwardly looming over Gun’s lethargic body on bed. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”_

_He’d like his question to be answered, but Gun decided he could humor his visitor a little. After all, it seemed like he’d have another time for more questions. “Like out-of-this-world pretty?” he tried. “Alluring? Gives amazing blowjobs? Loud in bed?”_

_“You say things most people wouldn’t,” Off filled in._

_Gun winked. “That’s my charm, I guess.”_

_There was a short moment of awkward silence before Off reached for something instead his briefcase — a card — leaving it on top of Gun’s dresser. He made his way for the door. “My name is Off,” he said, hand already on the handle._

_“Nice to meet you, P’Off.” He wasn’t even sure if Off’s actually older or if it was just his career making him look older. “I’m Gun.”_

“P’, what was your childhood dream?” Gun asks, breathing heavily from having to ride Off for at least ten minutes straight. His thighs and back are killing him.

Off snorts, one arm covering his eyes. “Why the sudden curiosity?”

“I came across a farming channel earlier while searching for something to watch, and it reminded me of how I wanted to raise cows when I was a kid.”

“Cows?”

“Yeah.”

Off’s never heard of anyone wanting to raise cows before, or fowls or any animal really. But he’s been a city person his whole life, and people from the city dreams of pompous things like owning a building, getting famous, becoming a CEO, or marrying _the_ CEO. So he asks, “Why?”

Gun shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe because I like milk. See, even now I like milk.” He gives Off a knowing eyebrow-raise.

Off side-eyes him from the gaps of his arm. “You’re gross.” _Too much for being sentimental._

“Whatever. So, what did you want to be?”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“You’ve done more embarrassing things with me for sure.”

“Touche.” There is a pause, a short moment of contemplation. “I wanted to be an actor.”

Off waits for a snort or a chuckle. He waits for Gun to make fun of him, but nothing follows aside from a pregnant silence. He has to turn to see Gun’s reaction. Unsurprisingly, there is none. He’s just straightfaced and unmoving.

“Well,” Gun begins after a beat, “you’re very good-looking so it kind of makes sense. But you’d probably be one of those actors who are extremely handsome but can’t act to save their lives.”

Off snorts. Of course Gun won’t let a chance pass to make fun of him. “Thanks.”

Gun snickers back. “I mean, you can’t even lie.”

“And how’s that got to do with acting?”

“Aren’t you lying when you’re acting? You’re basically putting on a mask to be someone you’re not, so you have to be an extremely good pretender to be a great actor.”

Off can’t say anything to that, so he lets the silence swallow them yet again. It seems like lately, silence has been too long for them. There are long stretches of silence before, but they were never this loud. Never this _visible_.

“P’Off,” Gun calls out, voice quiet and a little hoarse, probably from excessive grunting minutes ago. “Is this your answer?”

The hands of Gun’s wall clock somehow sound as if they were dragging. Deafening and heavy and impatient. Counting every beat Off misses to answer the question.

“Yes.”

It’s a rare moment to have them lying on their sides actually facing each other. Gun has his eyes closed. Off is staring at his face, his perfectly lined eyebrows, thin eyelashes, straight nose that’s a little pointy at the end, and soft lips Off has lost count of how many times he’d kissed.

“How many people have you fell in love with before me?” he blurts out. He is usually not the type to ask unambiguous questions; that is Gun’s role. But the night just seems to ask it from him. It seems to take them both by surprise.

Gun’s eyes flutter open, slowly focusing on Off’s face. He looks at it for a little longer, perhaps scrutinizing where Off suddenly got the courage to ask.

“Just one,” he finally says. “Some guy from high school. We dated for three years.”

Off should probably not ask it, but the words just come out too quickly. “Are we anything similar?”

“You both like carrying burdens. But he’s a better liar.”

He stares at Gun’s eyes. “Did he break your heart?”

“He cheated on me.”

Before Off can stop himself, he is putting a stay of hair behind Gun’s ear. “I used to think I was in love with a girl in college. Now I’m not even sure. How do you know you love someone, Gun?”

Gun stops thoughtfully before replying. “I think it’s when you realize it’s not just their eyes,” he says, sounding almost careful. “It’s not just the way you love their voice or their laugh or the way they hold you when you’re sad. When it’s not about them anymore. It’s just you.” 

Gun’s eyes flutter sleepily. He’s close to falling asleep. “Loving them has become a part of you. And you know that whatever happens, even if they lost their voice or forgot their memories, or if their skin gets wrinkled, you’d love them regardless… because it has already become a part of you.” 

Off’s fingers trail down from the side of Gun’s face to the row of hickeys on his neck, and he thinks, _“I’m envious of people who have such a clear idea of what love is.”_

Gun’s bare torso is moving steadily in sync with his inhales, eyes finally fluttering shut. “So, did you love her?”

“It’s sad,” Off breaths, “but I don’t think I did. Still, I liked her a lot. She was a really nice girl.”

“You can stay tonight if you want to,” Gun whispers almost in his sleep. 

Off’s fingers has stopped tracing the markings on his neck.

Gun is lying on his stomach, but his face is turned sideways to get a view of Off smoking at his balcony. 

“How did you end up picking architecture, P’?” he asks.

Off takes a drag from his cigarette. “I don’t know.” A puff of smoke covers his face momentarily. “My older brother took up structural engineering, so my parents just kind of blabbered on and on about how it’d be perfect if someone in our family could be an architect. Who else would that be? I was their only other child.”

Gun hums in understanding. “So how did it go? Are you two working together now?”

Off lets out a delightful but mocking snicker. “Of course not. My parents were just being stupid. And I guess I also didn’t have anything else I wanted to do before so I ended up just going along with what they wanted.”

“But you surprised yourself.”

Off flicks his stick on the ashtray Gun had bought for him because he said he couldn’t stand anymore getting ashes on his feet whenever he goes outside barefooted. 

“What?”

“You’re good at it. You showed me some of your sketches before.”

Off snorts. “I showed you or you peaked inside my office?”

“It’s the same thing.” 

Nobody speaks for a moment, so Gun continues, “Do you hate it?”

Off has his two fingers pressed on his lips, cigarette idly stuck between them. He’s not visibly taking a drag. He’s just there, seemingly paused at the moment, staring at the city’s dream-filled skyline, either with an empty mind or an overflowing flux of thoughts. You cannot tell just by his face.

“I know people who grew to hate the things that was forced onto them,” Gun says. “I think it’s perfectly valid.”

Off finally takes a drag. “I don’t hate it.” There is a slight warble in his voice. “Instead, I think I hate the fact that I’m stuck here because I don’t have anything else I want to do.”

The streets are busy below them. It always amazes Off how long or short-lived moments could be relative to the person experiencing it. 

For him, seeing that blue bus pass by is just a fleeting moment — a mere three seconds of his whole lifetime — but for everyone inside, the moments in that bus stay with them for 30 minutes longer. Thirty minutes with a lot of other short, tiny moments slipped between those minutes.

For the people who pass by Gun in the streets, Gun is just another fleeting moment — just another stranger’s face they see for a significantly tiny portion of their lives. But for Off, Gun is his six months.

“Gun,” he starts, “do you like where you are now?”

The answer comes short, direct, and fast. “I do.”

_Off barged in the door with the distracted realization that,_ “Wow, he really trust me enough to let me know his passcode.”

 _When Gun gave it to him a month ago, he excused it as being out of convenience._ “I don’t want to constantly open the door for you whenever you get booty called,” _he said. Off kind of knew it was partly true, but still there has to be some hefty amount of trust in there for him to say that. And they’ve only met five months ago._

_See? Gun always appear so transparent, but there was always something about what he left unsaid. Or maybe it’s actually just the feeling that he left something important unsaid._

_Off sometimes feel like he was just over analyzing — overthinking — Gun. But it was really the only sensible thing to do with Gun. You can never underthink him, if that was even a word._

_Off left his bags of takeaway and groceries on the counter before walking up to Gun’s room._

_It was unusually quiet, and the living room looked unusually neat as well. It was as if it hadn’t been touched since the last time Off came over two nights ago._

_“Hey,” he greeted, eyeing the huge lump of white blanket in the middle of the bed. “I bought food.”_

_There was no response, so Off shut the door behind him and sat at the edge of Gun’s bed, his eyes not leaving the little mound of cocooned Gun._

_“You shouldn’t have sexted with me if you’re sick.”_

_“It’s Friday. You deserve your little fun.” Gun’s voice came out rough and croaky, obviously suffering from colds. “I didn’t really do anything, P’. I just dirty talked with you — dirty texted… I don’t know.”_

_“You’re ridiculous. I’m not trusting you anymore when you say you don’t want me to call.”_

_It was Friday and usually, they would arrange to meet up either at Off’s place or at Gun’s. It’s the end of weekdays, so they’d normally just get takeaways before going home, or if the got too lazy, call delivery, and then spend the whole night “de-stressing.” It was one of their unspoken routines, one they didn’t even talk about but they just sort of fall into the habit of doing._

_Today however, Gun called in busy. He said he had some errands to do and that he couldn’t make it. It had happened before, so Off wasn’t too suspicious. After all, it was a bit new for Gun to get sick, too. Out of the five months they’d known each other, the worst thing Gun got was a sore throat. And it didn’t even last that long._

_Off was probably the one who gets sick often. And it didn’t help either that he’s such a whiner when sick._

_“I’ll heat up the soup,” he said, pulling at the sheet to see Gun’s face. It was flushed red and sweaty. His lips were dry from slight dehydration, too._

_Off sighed in disappointment and stood up to rummage the closet for some fresh clothes. He hung them at the back of the chair and went out to microwave the soup. He went back with a glass of water._

_He helped Gun sit up to drink, and then he checked his temperature with the thermometer he found on the nightstand. 39.6°C. He let out a deep sigh._

_“You’re mad,” Gun croaked._

_“I’m not mad,” he pressed. “I’m just disappointed you didn’t tell me. Your fever is really high.”_

_“You’re not my boyfriend.”_

_Complete silence. That word never got thrown out before._

_Off was taken aback. He didn’t expect for a sick Gun to be even more brutally honest than_ everyday _Gun. And everyday Gun always had some harsh truths to say._

_They’ve been fooling around for the past five months, and they even mutually agreed on making it exclusive. They listed out reasons (the pros) that were very far from the context of being boyfriends, so Gun blurting this out right now just felt so out of the blue._

_“I’m not,” Off agreed. “But I’m at least your friend.”_

_“What if I don’t want you to just be my friend?”_

_Off sat there at the edge of the same bed they usually mess around on, suddenly unsettled and lost for words. It must be the flu talking, he thought. Gun was at 39.6°C, enough for him to be borderline delirious._

_Still, those words left a bitter taste in his mouth and some kind of a hollow void inside his chest. A void that would stay longer that he realized that time._

_Gun was already dozing off on his bed. Off fixed his blanket for him. And for the rest of the night, Gun let himself be taken care of without any protest._

_Off spent the next hours — the next days — trying to forget Gun’s words._

“Why are you suddenly craving ice cream?”

Gun is already out of the car, not so stealthily trying to tuck the front of his shirt inside his pants. “My back hurts,” he says.

Off locks the car and scrambles behind him, making a face. “How does that have anything to do with ice cream?”

“It means,” Gun turns to him, looking a bit annoyed and a lot sounding matter-of-factly, “it’s your fault for fucking me at the back of your cramped car so you have to buy me ice cream.”

They haven’t done that in months. In fact, they haven’t been messing around anywhere else except at each other’s home for at least the past three months. It’s too easy to get used to having a lot of room to move around with.

Gun enters the convenience store first. The door opens almost at the same time as a familiar voice calls, “Gun?”

Gun isn’t the type to picture images or scenarios in his head. Since the day he broke up with Un on their high school graduation, he never thought of the time they’d cross paths again. Maybe it has something to do with how he knew that even if they did, there isn’t anything in particular he wants to say anymore. Un is his ex and that is that. However, meeting him with Off seems to be a whole different story.

The look on Gun’s (or maybe more evidently on Un’s) face must’ve given it away because Off immediately excuses himself to get ice cream he was protesting on buying just earlier.

The buzzing of the fridge and the toned down but persistent chatter of a group of guys eating instant noodles at the tables on one side of the store drown out Gun and his ex’s conversation. Still, Off finds himself distracted picking from the wide variety of ice cream flavors in front of him.

He takes his time choosing although he knows exactly what to pick for Gun - a cone of caramel choco fudge Cornetto. 

By the time they are back and seated on Off’s car, the silence seems to have thickened.

“You’re being extremely quiet,” Gun tells him. He doesn’t do anything aside from opening his Seventeen ice. 

It is probably not a good idea to eat ice cream inside a car, but he’d rather stay hidden in the comforts of his car than be face to face with Gun’s ex again.

Gun takes a bite from his ice cream. It still makes Off cringe whenever he does that. “You have no reason to be bothered,” Gun continues. “The spark’s already been lost years ago.” He almost sounds entertained by how Off’s reacting.

Off wants to defend himself and say he isn’t bothered at all. But he is, and the realization felt like strong blow in his gut. Maybe Gun does have a reason to muse. 

With an internal shrug, he pushes the feeling down the abyss of his thoughts. He finishes his ice cream as fast as he could, and then he drives off to take Gun back to his own apartment.

_“This is my first time fucking in a car,” Gun let out a labored sigh, chest heaving heavily and legs crowding in the small spaces on either side of Off’s lap._

_He did feel kind of unfair being the only one naked, but you can’t really expect much liberation from car sex. At least he was feeling more unrestricted than Off who had his ass glued on the seat of his car for maybe a whole duration of fifteen minutes with only the buttons of his shirt undone and pants unzipped._

_“P’ my legs are sleeping on me,” he grunted, trying to lift his right and almost jabbing Off’s rib in the process. “So stuffy… Still sexy though.”_

_Off smirked at that._

_Gun slid off the end of Off’s lap to lean back on the steering wheel. Off was already reaching for a pack of tissue and a cigarette inside the middle compartment._

_Gun watched him light it. The sight somehow made him chortle — Off smoking his Marlboro, his chest (and shirt) sweaty, a trail of drying jizz on his stomach (he was already wiping it off with a tissue), and his dick still hanging out from his pants semi-hard._

_“Sometimes it baffles me how adventurous you are with your sexual activities.”_

_Off snorted. “I look vanilla to you?”_

_Gun rolled his eyes. “Can you blame me? I’m just saying, if I see you on the street you wouldn’t come across to me as a guy who’d blow someone in a movie theater, or fuck in a jacuzzi, or in a car parked outside a public school.”_

_(That jacuzzi one was kinda crazy. Off was in Ang Thong for some kind of an urban landscape seminar of some sort, so he booked a hotel to minimize the hassle of driving back and forth for the 2-day event. And then for some reason, he ended up paying for Gun’s taxi from Bangkok to Ang Thong at 12 in the morning.)_

_Off continued smoking his cig, opening the window a little to ash it and let the smoke out._

_He understood what Gun was saying. He does appear a little too serious, or maybe even workaholic at first glance. He could definitely be someone who had enough sexual experience (he’s 31 for Pete’s sake), but nothing close to being as rash as he really was._

_“When was the first time you had sex?” Of course, who is Gun Atthaphan without his straightforward questions. “If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”_

_“High school,” Off puffed out a smoke, “with a girl from my class. We did it twice — the first one in her room, the other inside our school’s accessible toilet.”_

_“Oh,” Gun smirked like he just had a eureka moment, “so even before it’s always been in some… unconventional places.”_

_A small pause. There was nothing Off could really say to that. It was true, and perhaps the reason why he became part of the mile-high club at 21. “You?”_

_“Same, high school. With a guy named Un.”_

_Off laughed. “You’re dropping names?”_

_Gun shrugged. “Have you been with a lot of sexual partners?” he asked instead._

_“I don’t keep numbers, but maybe, yeah. How many do you consider ‘a lot’?”_

_“I don’t know. Maybe more than your fingers can count?”_

_“Well, it’s more than my fingers can count.” He had his arms hanging out his window, cigarette now shortening without being huffed out. “It’s a lot easier to form sexual connections than emotional ones, don’t you think?”_

_Gun nodded. “I agree. Even now, isn’t that what we have?”_

“I like your eyes.” A pause. “They’re bright.”

Across him Gun laughs through his nose, palm pillowing his face. “What should we have for dinner?” he mumbles instead.

Off stares at Gun’s eyes for a couple more seconds. “Pad Thai?”

“Is that you favorite post-sex food?”

“No. Cigarettes.”

“Edgy,” Gun teases, stretching and yawning before standing up to put on his shorts. Off snorts at his remark. “Your cigarettes are going to kill you one day.” He rummages through a small pile of discarded clothes on the floor to try and look for his phone before adding, “Well, at least after they kill me first.”

Off falls on his back, rubbing off the sleep from his eyes. “That’s why I’m smoking on your balcony.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that you’re going to kill us both.” Gun starts calling the hotline of the nearest restaurant that still accepts delivery at ten in the evening.

“Well, yeah. But when the smoke is in your eyes, you look so alive,” he singsongs annoyingly.

Gun’s thumb stops midair. He makes a face at Off.

“That’s a quote from The 1975 song.”

An eye roll. “Shut up and stop romanticizing your vices. Dying is only cool when you’re on a Shakespearean tragedy.” 

Off snickers and watches Gun move to the kitchen. The short guy’s soft and almost ostentatiously polite voice talking on the phone slowly lulls Off to a nap. This time he doesn’t try to fight it, knowing Gun will wake him up anyway when the delivery man arrives; after all, they’re not lovers from a Shakespearean tragedy. 

But what Off doesn’t realize is the name of the song that quote is from.

_Off was naked, sitting on his swivel chair and playing with some kind of a violent online game on his new, expensive PC._

_Outside of stressing over the endless circle of looming deadlines, implacable clients, and opportunistic contractors, Off finds relaxation on playing computer games. Gun never saw its charm, but Off has been obviously obsessed with it for years now._

_He was forcefully pressing keys on his keyboard, grimacing and grunting from dodging an attack just by a hair’s breadth._

_Bored, Gun threw his phone on the pillow and strutted to Off’s spot. He started pressing himself to his side, grazing his nails against the skin of his arm. Off knew what was happening, but he was in the middle of winning a battle so he let Gun humor himself for a little while._

_But then again, Gun wasn’t the patient type. He slightly pushed the swivel chair away and crawled inside the space below the desk. With his legs tucked under his butt, he started kneading Off’s thighs, pale and beefy._

_It started off innocently, just light squeezes and nails grazing against skin, until his fingers started to move dangerously close to Off’s groin._

_“Gun,” Off warned._

_A minute passed soundlessly after. But just when he began to think Gun has behaved himself, his breath suddenly hitched when fingers started brushing over his dick._

_“P’... I’m bored,” Gun complained. “And you’ve been playing that game for an hour now.”_

_Off eyed him briefly under the table; he couldn’t afford to take his eyes off the screen for more than a second. “Come up here,” he said, one hand searching for Gun’s arm to pull him up._

_He almost manhandled Gun into sitting him on his lap. He rolled his chair closer to the desk and focused back on the game. Gun’s head fell on his shoulder. Luckily, Gun seemed to have found his peace in that position so they stayed that way for a few minutes._

_When Gun got bored, he reached for the karakuri bear puzzle beside Off’s PC to play with. He fidgeted with it for a couple of minutes before figuring it out. He sighed, putting the pieces back on the desk._

_Off started biting Gun’s shoulder lightly. It was not a usual position you’d find them in, with Off on his chair playing video games and Gun on his lap bored to death. It was almost too domestic, but they were both too distracted to even realize the position they were in._

_“Everything in you house is expensive and boring,” Gun muttered. “This is exactly why we always do stuff at my place.”_

_Off sniggered, lips still pressed against Gun’s shoulder. “We always do stuff at your place because it actually feels like a home. Mine screams a severely lonely artist who deals with his personal issues by buying expensive stuff with no intentions of using them at all. It doesn’t even feel like someone lives here.”_

_“For real. You don’t even have any picture of anyone here.”_

_“I don’t like displaying pictures.”_

_“Why?”_

_“I don’t know.” Off violently pressed keys as if that would help him win faster. “I don’t have any pictures I want to hang or something.”_

_Gun shrugged before standing up to raid Off’s fridge. Off continued killing heroes on his computer._

“You have our picture inside your drawer.” 

It isn’t even a good picture taken with a nice camera. It’s just one of those low quality strips you get from a photobooth at an arcade. It is a photo they took when they passed by one at the mall when they went to eat at Gun’s favorite Thai restaurant. 

“I just,” Off stutters, surprised Gun would suddenly find that, “I like keeping things like that. I, uh, actually used to have a box, but my mom accidentally threw it away when I was seventeen.”

“Box?”

“I used to have a memory haul box. It’s kinda corny,” he sounds embarrassed just talking about it, but he has already made the mistake of bringing it up. “I used to keep movie tickets or stuff my friends give me or — okay, I know I don’t look the least bit sentimental; you can stop making that face now.”

Gun scrunches his nose in laughter. “What face? I think it’s cute actually. I’m just surprised, is all.”

Off continues washing his face over his bathroom’s basin while Gun examines the photo. 

“We look adorable here,” he admires. “You hand looks awkward hanging around my shoulder though.” 

Off walks across the room, drying his face with a towel. He peeks over Gun’s shoulder to look at the photo. He does look awkward. And maybe even slightly uncomfortable. It was taken around two months after they met.

“We should take a better photo some time,” Gun declares, turning his head to look over at Off.

Suddenly, their faces are too close — the tips of their noses only centimeters apart (Gun could even get a whiff of Off’s mouthwash). And then before Off could even stop himself, he is kissing Gun.

It isn’t a wild kiss, no tongue reaching the roof of the other’s mouth or teeth biting the lower lip. It’s just a kiss, a little too tender than usual and much too soft than what they’re both used too. And it is exactly because of that, that Off couldn’t explain why somehow it makes him even more breathless than a full-blown make out session.

Off starts pressing his lips harder to Gun’s, tasting his own toothpaste in the process. Gun has his eyes tightly closed. Off sucks tenderly on Gun’s upper lip before pulling away. 

They stand there, staring at each other’s eyes. Even Gun’s breathing is staggered.

Off wordlessly reaches for the photo and slips it on the corner of his computer screen, no longer hiding inside the dark interior of his drawer. 

Gun watches him do it, giving him a soft smile and then disappearing inside the bathroom after.

Off swears his heart was about to jump out of his chest. And he has to admit that’s been a regular occurrence lately. Or, if he was keen enough, maybe even a little later than ‘lately’.

_“P’Off, are you one of those people who dislike the idea of long-distance relationships?” Gun asked in the middle of a break-up scene in a movie he didn’t even got the title of. The girl was crying about something like moving to a different country and leaving the guy behind._

_“Probably. I don’t think it’d work for me.”_

_Gun chewed on a popcorn. “Why?”_

_“Because my love language is physical touch” He mindlessly extended his legs to reach Gun who was sitting at the other end of the couch. He playfully toed his shin. And for a moment he realized he wanted to touch Gun right now — his face, his hands, his thighs, the dimple at the base of his spine, the almost unnoticeable mole on the side of his nose, that little scar on his left cheek._

_He felt an unwelcomed twinge in his chest when he realized the implications of it. His heart twinged a little tighter when he realized he didn’t even mean it in a sexual way. Non-sexual stuff somehow makes him nervous lately._

_“I used to have a boyfriend from college,” Gun retold. Off wordlessly thanked his voice from distracting him from his train of thoughts. “I don’t even remember why we started going out, but it lasted for at least a year or so. And then after we graduated, he just stopped talking to me. I didn’t know why. I just found out on his instagram that he already migrated to Canada._

_“There wasn’t even a proper break-up. I tried reaching out because — I don’t know — we still dated,” he shrugged, obviously playing it down. “But no response.”_

_“What an ass.”_

_“I didn’t even love him,” Gun let out a halfhearted laugh. “But it’s still annoying knowing he wasted so much of my time.”_

_Off couldn’t form words. He just stared at the man in front of him, thinking how could bad things happen to someone like Gun._

_“You’re going to tell me if you’re going away, right?”_

_Off snorted. “Gun, I’ll tell you. And you should also know that you don’t deserve whatever that guy did to you.”_

_Gun smiled gently, and then he went back to watching whatever it was that was on Off’s TV screen._

“Is something bothering you?” Gun asks, taking little strides towards where Off is standing.

Off wakes up from a trance. “What? Oh — No, nothing.”

“You seem distracted.”

Off thinks for a while, taking a drag from a cigarette he seems to have forgotten for the past minute. “Just work.”

“I mean, you seem distracted since last week,” Gun rephrases, tightening the blanket around his shoulders. The hem are sweeping over the tiles of his balcony, but it’s too chilly outside to go out in a thin shirt and a pair of gym shorts.

“We just… have a difficult client right now,” Off tries to explain. “Just been demanding a lot of revisions lately. He’s not short on cash, too, so he doesn’t care about the extra charges.”

Gun looks at him sympathetically. “I’ll make dinner, P’. Finish that,” he gestures to the cigarette, “and then go inside. It’s too cold here.”

_“What’s your greatest fear?” asked Gun. He was sitting with his legs crossed on the metal chair at his balcony, watching Off blew out puffs of smoke._

_Off looked over the apartment complex next to Gun’s. There was always a lady on the same floor that waters her outdoor plants every early morning without fail. Sometimes he wonders what it feels like to have something you’re so dedicated about, or to have something you habitually do that generates small but genuine happiness for you._

_“Not being able to figure out my dream before dying?” he answered, kind of in a questioning tone not because he was unsure about his fear, but because he didn’t know if it was a good enough answer._

_Gun stared at his cigarette. “Not dying of lung cancer?”_

_He smirked. “I don’t really care how I die.” His hand reaches for the ashtray before tapping his stick on it. “You? What is Gun Atthaphan most afraid of?”_

_“You know,” Gun’s back hits the back of the chair, “I’ve always thought I’m afraid of being lonely. But then I realized I’m always lonely,” a short chuckle, “so I guess I’m just afraid of being lonely until I die. I don’t want to be alone forever.”_

_“Do you think you’d be alone forever?”_

_“It’s easier to end up alone than to put in all the effort just to coexist with somebody.”_

_Off lets out a smoke. “Maybe you’ll find someone you won’t mind putting in the all the effort for just to be with.”_

_Gun’s lips stretch into a half-heartedly smile that’s gone as soon as it shows. “Maybe.”_

“I’m getting reassigned to Singapore.”

You can hear a pin drop in the room. Gun is just as quiet, and yet again Off has no idea how they somehow always find themselves opening up deep and heavy conversations right after they just had sex.

Their bodies are covered in sweat. Their brains are fried to extinction and their muscles are too sore to even attempt a miniscule movement. They’re basically stuck there, lying side by side with a heavy atmosphere above their heads and with no strength to even attempt to move.

Aftersex isn’t the ideal time to talk about things, especially things that matter like catching feelings or going away for work. But for some reason, it has been the most convenient time for them for an honest talk. Maybe it has to do with how spent they are — no one can run away even if they want to.

“How long?” Gun asks after a long pause. It feels like an eternity.

“Ten months, minimum. It might get extended depending on how fast the turnover would be.”

There are a lot of things Gun would like to say, and a lot of questions he wants to ask. Off knows that much. However, it is one of those times when there are just so much to say Gun finds himself at a lost for words.

There’s a slow and even breathing. “When are you leaving?” he prods, voice a little gruffer than he intended.

“Next, next week.”

“Is that what’s been bothering you for the past weeks?”

It is. Off hums in affirmation.

The silence stretches. Gun’s flat isn’t that far up the building, so the only sounds engulfing the room are their breathing, the ticking of Gun’s damn clock (again), and the muffled sound of passing cars from the street across.

Off doesn’t know what else to say. Gun doesn’t seem to know either. And it’s making them both feel more and more pathetic by each passing second.

“Do you remember when we first met at P’Tay’s birthday party?” Gun finally speaks.

Off finds it hard to even form a word. There’s a huge lump in his throat. Even his breathing is labored. “Yeah.”

“You were wearing this really,” Gun thinks of a word, “ _boring_ , monochromatic corporate outfit. And I thought, ‘oh, this must be one of P’Tay’s lame-ass officemates.’” 

Off forces a chuckle. He feels like it’s what Gun is waiting for. But he doesn’t really disagree. It _was_ a boring outfit. He was at that point where he really doesn’t care about clothes anymore and just lets professionalism and presentability equate to dull, repetitive 3-piece ensemble of shirt, coat, and pants.

“You were there,” Gun continues, “sitting at the table drinking beer. _Beer_ , out of all drinks available. It never cross my mind I’d be going home with you that night. Nor did I think I’d be seeing you the following week. And the next after that.”

Off guesses that’s just how it is, really. A lot of unexpected things happen in life, and most of the time you just have to work your way around whatever that thing that happened is. You have no other choice so you just deal with it and hope you still have the flair to make things work.

“Me neither,” Off almost whispers. His words somehow feel like they’re getting stuck inside his throat. “You were partying hard with your friends.”

Gun cracks a smile at the memory. “We were really different. Still are. But even then, I’ve always known you’re meant for good things.”

A couple of moments pass by, enough for Off’s chest to feel tight and physically painful.

Just like the other nights, although Off doesn’t see it with his eyes this time, he hears a vehicle pass by the street below. And suddenly, he’s washed over with a pang of fear that comes with the realization that if he doesn’t get over himself soon enough, Gun could end up as a fleeting moment as well.

Working in the field of architecture, Off has to learn how to cope with the constraints of time. His whole profession revolves around chasing deadlines, setting up a strict timeline, and marking specific dates on the calendar that you cannot move because that will cost you a lot of money and sometimes, even people.

“I’ll take you the airport so you don’t have to leave your car there, don’t worry,” Gun reassures.

This time, however, Off doesn’t know if he’s going to meet the deadline.

_“Happy birthday.” Off offered a suede, rose gold box._

_Gun had his lips parted, surprised Off even remembered it was his birthday. He only mentioned it once over dinner, and they were even distracted with doing both the eating and watching Netflix part. He stared at the box a little longer before accepting it._

_He sat up and crossed his legs before opening the box. He blinked. It was a necklace with a dainty gold chain and a rose gold textured angel wing charm pendant. He’s never been gifted anything as beautiful._

_“You didn’t have to,” he tried saying, but the words sounded like they were spoken under his breath._

_Off sat up and reached for the necklace. “I’ll put it on for you.”_

_He reached behind Gun to clip the necklace, arms going around him and breathe fanning over his ears. He pulls away to admire the sight from afar._

_Gun sat there on his bed, shirtless. His fingers felt the pendant over his bare skin. It falls right below the center of his clavicle._

_“Happy birthday, Gun.”_

_His lips stretched into a smile. “Thank you, P’.”_

_“Let’s get dressed and have dinner outside?”_

_He nodded once. “Okay.”_

“You’re going next week,” Gun says. Both of them do not know why he felt the need to say it now when it’s the elephant in the room they’ve been avoiding to bring up for the past days. However, it just feels too big to ignore now.

They’re both on their backs, both staring at the star-shaped stickers on the ceiling of Gun’s room.

“I’ve never been scared of going away,” Off confesses, “but this one somehow feels scary.”

“I’m sure you’ll do great there. And if you don’t, then it’ll only affect the lives of the hundreds of people who’d use that — what was it again — hotel?” Gun turns to him, giving a sarcastic expression. “No biggie.”

Off snorts. He can’t bring himself to tell Gun that it’s not about his work he’s worried about. Somehow, even that thought is kind of scary, too.

_“Did something happen, P’?”_

_It was almost 3AM and the night was silent, so silent that Gun’s whispered voice sounded like it was ringing inside Off’s ear._

_“You looked upset when you came in,” Gun continued. “And earlier you were rougher than usual.”_

_Off was on his back while Gun was lying on his side studying his face._

_Unlike Gun, Off was secretive, more introverted, and he kept a lot of things to himself — facts, emotions, thoughts. And if Gun wasn’t the type to ask questions, he’d probably know very little about Off, even lesser than what he knew now. And that says a lot._

_“How does your family feel about you liking men?”_

_That’s not what Gun expected, but he still manages to tell his story. “Well, it took my dad a little more time than my mom, but he got there. My mom was very supportive. I guess, she’d always known. My dad… you know, he was the kind of ‘in denial’ type in the beginning.”_

_“How about your siblings? You have a sister, right?”_

_“A younger sister, yeah. Well, nothing changed with her when she knew. She had the best reaction out of the three of them. She was in high school then and she told me, ‘well, gay or not, you’re still my brother. And I love you all the same.’”_

_Off doesn’t talk for a beat before heaving out a sigh. “My older brother visited me this afternoon. We argued about some things.”_

_Off looked extremely sad and upset and Gun didn’t think anything he’d say would help; so he lied there looking at the man he’s been seeing the most frequently the past months. It seemed like it’s the only thing Off wanted as well — just someone to listen. Just somewhere safe to vent out his frustrations at._

_“You know,” Off muttered, voice sounding tired and distressed, “it’s really unfair when sexuality becomes the basis of people’s outlook of you. Somehow, that becomes the only thing they see about you.”_

_Gun reached out his hand to push Off’s hair away from his face. No one spoke for the next few minutes. It was just Off disappointedly staring at the ceiling and Gun softly stroking his hair._

_“Do you wanna come closer?” Gun finally asked._

_That was the first and the last time they ever cuddled after sex, because along with the huge comfort and relief it bought to Off came an even bigger amount of realization._

_Whatever supposedly harmless thing it is that they have, it’s starting to get dangerous. And maybe, possibly destructive._

“I’m sorry, Gun.” 

Off’s voice is croaky, probably from all the grunting during sex, but the nerves may be a huge factor, too. His throat just feels drier than usual and he’s finding it hard to find the right words.

He hears Gun shifting beside him. “What for?” 

“For hurting you,” Off whispers to the dead of night — his last night in Thailand for at least a year. It’s a shame they can’t see it, but the view outside is beautiful; stars scattered in the sky and the lights from the skyscrapers across are blending in together to form their own kind of constellation. “For all the unsaid words. For leaving when things are this complicated.”

Gun remains silent. Off faces him.

“I just want to apologize for all the pain I’ve caused you all these past months. It’s not what you deserve. And I’m sorry for being greedy.”

“I made my choice,” Gun mutters. “I’m not in a rush, P’Off. And you know, I’m sorry, too. For putting all the burden on you.”

There’s a curious thing about love. Not every two people learn to understand love at the same time. But it doesn’t really matter for some, because it is also _love_ to be able to find each other on the other side despite the challenge of time.

There are people like Gun who knows about love and loves. There are people like Off who learns how to properly love first before they love.

“You know,” Off swallows, “I realize you don’t deserve one more year of waiting. I’m letting you go, Gun.” 

Ironically, it is his own heart that Off hears breaking instead of Gun’s. He doesn’t know what to think.

Gun turns to face him, smirking languidly. “Is this it? You’re breaking my heart before leaving?”

Off reaches out to caress his face. He probably has no right to do that, but he does anyway. For some reason, it feels like it’s what they both need. Gun doesn’t move anyway. If it is because he actually wants to be touched or if he’s just too upset to care about anything else at the moment, Off has no idea.

“I’m not ready to say it.”

Off cannot hear it but there is another loud crack, this time inside Gun’s ribs. A loud, painful crack begging for him to run away. To leave before one deep breath makes his insides shake, causing the pieces to fall in the pit of his stomach.

“I may not be here anymore when you get back,” Gun trails off.

“I know.” Off’s hand is warm on Gun’s cheek. “That’s exactly why I’m telling you this now. You don’t deserve to hold on to the uncertainty, Gun. I don’t deserve to be loved by you. Or anyone. Not right now.”

Gun laughs, but there’s no humor in his voice; instead, tears are pooling in his eyes. His lips are starting to tremble. “You don’t get to decide that.”

Gun cannot believe it. He used to think he can take it. He’s strong. He’s set his mind on this long ago, and he’s accepted whatever it is that’s going to happen in the future. But nobody’s ever prepared for a heartbreak. Even when you see it coming, even when you already know at the back of your mind that it’s bound to happen, it’s still going to hurt.

And most of the time, always knowing hurts you more. Hurts you longer.

“I should have said this right after the confession,” Off admits. “I’m so sorry, Gun. I didn’t have the courage.”

Gun has the back of his hand pressed on his lips to stop it from trembling, but there’s nothing he can do to stop his eyes from crying anymore. “I’m so mad that I brought this upon myself.”

Off props himself up and presses a kiss on Gun’s forehead. “You’re a wonderful person, Gun. And the world is so lucky to have you.”

“Don’t say that. Don’t say that while you’re breaking my heart.”

Gun lets himself wallow in self-pity for a while. He lies there, thinking about all the things he could’ve done to avoid this kind of ending. But he knows those are the same things he wouldn’t even consider doing; he’s stubborn like that. Sometimes he feels like he has a thing for masochism. Or maybe he’s just overly hopeful that even though things weren’t the way he wanted it to be in the beginning, somehow it will all come down just fine in the end.

But the world isn’t as kind as he hoped it’d be. It can’t read his mind; and even if it could, it won’t deliver his deepest desire at his doorstep like it’s Christmas despite how badly he wishes for it. 

He knows he’s right. He bought this upon himself. But you can’t really blame him for hanging on that _thin_ string of hope no matter how faint or far-fetched it was; because at some point it becomes the only thing someone can do, really. 

“I thought I’d regret it more if I don’t even try — if I didn’t tell you,” Gun cries. “But now I’m not sure what I regret more.”

“If there’s someone who’d be the most regretful, it’s me.”

That almost makes Gun laugh loudly. He’s so pissed at Off he can’t believe that jerk can spite him anymore than he already did. “Then why are you doing it?”

Off can’t say anything else besides, “I have to.”

“I just —,” Gun chokes on the tears he’s trying so hard to hold back. He’s cried enough. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m really sorry.”

Gun feels like the bed is shrinking. It suddenly feels too small to be carrying two people. He wishes it could swallow him instead.

“I’ll go by taxi tomorrow,” Off finally says after what felt like an eternity. “You don’t have to take me.”

With an empty head and an even emptier heart, Gun stares at the stars above his bed. He should probably take those down already. It’s not like they’re still glowing in the dark anymore. “You’ve really thought this over.”

Off doesn’t answer. He only stands to dress up and take his things. 

“I’m really sorry, Gun.”

And then he’s gone before Gun even gets to decide whether he’d just leave his ceiling bare or if he’d buy new stickers to put on there.

After almost half an hour of spacing out, he thinks maybe it’s better to keep it bare. He doesn’t even remember what his ceiling looks like without the stars. Maybe that’d help him not remember things when he looks up at it before sleeping.

He wipes the tears he didn’t even realize were falling. He turns to his side and forces himself to sleep.

Tomorrow, there will be no more stars.

_“How many kids do want in the future?” Gun asked, legs dangling from one of the stools in Off’s kitchen._

_He was browsing through one of the architecture and design magazines he found in the living room. He stopped at an article about a huge, 7-bedroom house, which was exactly the reason the question was brought up in the first place._

_Off seemed to get it after catching a glance at Gun when he slid a plate of potato pancakes on the counter. He snorted, but answered, “Three? Four? I want a big family. But not too big.”_

_Gun nodded kind of incredulously before flipping the page to look at more pictures of the interiors of the house. He aksed, “When do you wanna have kids?”_

_Off almost wanted to laugh with how random the topic was, but he focused on cutting the tofu in smaller pieces instead. “Before I turn 35.”_

_“That’s only four years from now.”_

_He stopped himself from rolling his eyes. He got it. He’s old. Anyway, Gun was not the one to speak when he’s just two years younger. “I don’t want to be 40 with severe signs of arthritis when I have my first child. And I want to be in their life for a long time.”_

_He started setting the tofu in a pan, and then chopped some onion, garlic, and green onions while he waited for it to cook._

_“How about you,” he asked, realizing Gun was too engrossed on the family photo. He was most definitely trying to match which room belongs to which kid based on the room decor. “Do you like kids?”_

_“P’Off, I work in a school.”_

_Off pursed his lips._ Right, wrong choice of words. _“I mean, do you want to have your own kids?”_

_“In the future, I guess.”_

_Off flipped the tofu to let the other side cook._

_“So,” Gun started, finally looking up to meet Off’s eyes, “when are we going to look for a surrogate?”_

_Off laughed, leaning across the counter to peak at the magazine. Gun was on the page with the photo of the master bedroom._

_Without realizing, Off’s mind suddenly wandered off to the uncharted idea of having a house and a family and having kids and maybe two dogs._

_His eyes unconsciously shifted to Gun._

**Author's Note:**

> I never thought I’d actually finish writing something with this kind of ending (I've never had fics with sad endings before), but let me just say this is a lot draining than happy endings but a little more satisfying?? Maybe that’s just me lol. 
> 
> I kind of feel bad that the first fanfic I posted about OffGun they didn’t end up together. Let me know what you think!
> 
> I’m also on Twitter under the same username: skyandmustard.


End file.
